


Alone

by MissSavvy



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSavvy/pseuds/MissSavvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth still can’t help but doubt Red's sincerity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short snippet for this pairing. Trail run fic. In this I really feel nothing short of the girl with a lot of feelings from Mean Girls. I might like to write something a little more substantial after getting a firmer grasp of their characters!

“We’re not partners. We’re _not_ a team.”

It was becoming an almost routine statement; one that lost its validity with each passing case. Catching criminals left and right from Red’s seemingly never-ending blacklist became the norm and even she had to admit that his role was much more profound and intricate than that of a mere informant. These were people hiding under the radar – ones the FBI would never have found without him. They needed him. And consequently, so did she.

It was infuriating. Being forced to depend on someone like him - a notorious criminal. Someone that shouldn’t be trusted. And if there was one thing that bothered her aside from her husband’s potential betrayal, it was that.

“Of course, Lizzie. I’m just along for the ride,” came the reply. As always, it was nonchalant and laced with a smirk. Liz forced herself not to roll her eyes but couldn’t help but press the tip of her heeled shoe down on the gas pedal a fraction harder. She stole a glance from the rearview mirror and merged into the faster lane.

“But you know,” he continued, amused tone prominent over the buzzing noise of highway traffic, “as far as _teams_ go, we do work fairly well with one another.”

Elizabeth Keen pressed her lips together, “Is this the exit?”

He smirked at her deflection, drumming his fingers against the center console between them and nodded, “Shangri-La will be a few blocks shy of the lakeside.”

“And when we get there?”

“Anxious?”

Narrowing her eyes, she swept them away from the street and looked at him, “No. I just want to take care of this and go home as soon as possible.”

Red chuckled as she turned her face back towards the road, “There’s nothing to it, Lizzie. Just a simple chat with an associate of mine and we’ll have the time and place of the arrival for his next shipment. It should go rather smoothly. You could even stay and wait in the car, if you’d like.”

Scoffing, she shook her head. So far he’d gotten her into and saved her from near death experiences on at least three separate occasions. In doing so he’d killed just as many men in what she considered to be cold blood; to her those deaths weren’t necessary. Just how he kept that relaxed and unconcerned demeanor about him eluded her and did nothing to relieve her unease.

“You always make it sound so simple,” she sighed, “and then things get complicated.”

He regarded her for a moment, cocking his head to the side before adopting a much more solemn tone, “Life is complicated.”

Swallowing down a lump in her throat, her unpolished fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. The pads of her thumbs pressed into the raised pattern covering the dark rubber and she felt an overwhelming need to stop and pull over.

“Of course, you already knew that.”

* * *

 

After being introduced and dismissed as a contractor, Elizabeth watched from a distance while attempting to hide her outright shock under a passive and unattached facade. As she watched, she noticed Reddington was comfortable. But it was more than that. Red was nothing less than completely at ease as he spoke with the trafficker. He kept the same professional air about him as he always did, of course, but in this scenario he smiled, laughed and _joked_ with the man relaying the info they were seeking. Hell, they’d even forgone the expected handshake for a half-embrace before parting ways.

As she was unlocking the door to his suite on the top floor of the Shangri-La, Elizabeth couldn’t get over the fact that Reddington still carried the same _sincere_ smile that graced his features during the exchange. And it wasn’t until then that she realized she must’ve been gawking, because Red caught her eye from across the room and smiled at her before setting a wallet and pad of paper onto a coffee table.

“Hadn’t seen Raúl in a coon’s age. He happens to have a particularly wicked sense of humor. Good man, or at the very least an interesting one.”

“Aside from the murdering and drug trafficking,” Elizabeth pointed out, her forehead marred with lines of confusion.

“Ah,” Reddington only shrugged, turning to the requested bottle of wine that rested in the center of an oak dining room table, “Yes. There’s that.”

She couldn’t hold her tongue. “How could you act like that?”

Red tampered with the seal, his back turned to her while he calmly replied to her accusatory tone as if they were simply discussing the weather. “Act like what, exactly?”

“Like…” she stopped short, feeling more than just confused or angry but unable to identity just what was setting her off, “… like you’re his friend. Like you aren’t stabbing him in the back.”

“It’s as you said,” the criminal replied over the sound of liquor pouring into a glass, “He’s a murderous drug lord. Can’t have that.”

Liz wasn’t opposed to agreeing with such a fact but she still shook her head, walking the course of the room to the dining room table to meet him; subconsciously, she gripped the back of a chair. She registered the clink of a glass.

“But he’s definitely going away for life. He might even get killed by one of our officers. And you acted like - ”

Reddington turned to face her, features cool and collected as he extended a glass of pinot noir towards her; the action threw her off track and muddled the remainder of her thought. She closed her mouth and lowered her gaze from the eyes she couldn’t read to the glass before her, taking it with her scarred hand before the warm voice spoke again, prompting her.

“Like what, Lizzie?”

Elizabeth tore her gaze from the swirling drink and stared back up at his face, realizing that the only thing she truly felt was nothing short of hurt. She set down the wine, and looked off to the side.

“Like you cared.”

Had she been looking at him, she would have noticed the softened features that went along with his quieted tone, “Lizzie…”

“You’re a talented actor,” she half smiled, before fitting a frown back into place and making to turn; feeling a light restraint – the gentle grasp of a hand at her elbow holding her in place. She caught his eye once more, and when he didn’t open his mouth to speak, she did for him.

“You don’t _know_ me, which means you can’t care about me. Not really.”

She could have sworn she saw something flash across his face, something that matched what _she_ was feeling; but she couldn’t be sure. The changes were so minute. They had to be, with all those secrets and lies hidden beneath his façade.

“I know that you’re alone. You were alone after the fire,” his low, distinct voice spoke in an undertone, “And after believing that you could find solace in the man you married, you’ve come to find yourself alone once more.”

She _knows_ he can feel her shaking, the lightest tremble beginning at the disfigured flesh of her wrist, running through her body like a current. And she’s aware of another hand on her shoulder, and the sudden closeness of his form before her own. It takes her what seems like an hour to speak, and when she does her words are shaky and broken.

“How do you know so much about me?”

It just comes out before she can stop herself. Another routine phrase she’s asked him many times before; but for the first time she isn’t sure she really wants an answer. Her entire life answers have always evaded her. Now she’d settle for a little security. And she feels secure, for a moment, when a thumb brushes away a stray tear on her cheek.

“It’s not as much about knowing you as it is about understanding you. You and I, Lizzie… we’re not that different from one another.”

She doesn’t collapse, because she’s far from weak – but she does give in. When Elizabeth feels lips on her hair, and the warmth of arms surrounding her she feels as if everything is going to be okay. And while she doesn’t catch every soothing word he speaks to her in that moment, she does remember this:

“You don’t have to be alone anymore. And neither do I.”


End file.
